


A Surrender

by Senora_Luna



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: F/M, Feelings Realization, Love, Post-Canon, Skeletons, Talking, Tender Sex, Tenderness, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 00:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14248890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senora_Luna/pseuds/Senora_Luna
Summary: After finally giving Hector another chance, Imelda curiously contemplates what is available to them in their marriage as a dead couple-and how much pain she will have to endure if it means opening her heart to love him again.Post-Film Imector.





	A Surrender

                         Imelda could barely believe it, after nearly one hundred years the nightmare which had plagued her was swept away by reality for the first time. Instead of waking alone from the horrifying moment of abandonment, she woke to the sight of her husband beside her, his arm across her torso, and face so close to her own she could trace every detail. Yes, unlike her dream he was skeleton now, but so was she. It had been years ago she’d grown accustomed and comfortable to such sights, it was simply odd now to become used to this _new_ Héctor after all her memories and dreams were of the fleshy young man. _Oh_ now there was an embarrassing thought. She didn’t dare to begin thinking of those once unwelcomed dreams of the things they had used to do together for hours in bed with flesh. However nothing on this morning could convince her to turn away from his face.

 

             Carefully, in hopes not to wake him, Imelda ran a careful hand across his different markings. Gold, leaflets, bright colors, how fitting for the enthusiastic musician she’d known in life. It brought to her mind the skull guitar she had given him years ago, the artistic interpretations across its face now mirrored his own. After all that was the purpose of the macabre design. It was a testament of loving him from that life into the next. Well she was late on the part, but better late than never.

 

Perhaps one of the most interesting things about his face was the absence of his large nose which had been such a distinct feature on him. It was a little comical now he did look much more average and dashing as a skeleton, with high cheekbones and colorful patterns, as opposed to the gangly young man she’d come to know. Strangely enough as she ran her fingers across the skull’s nasal bridge it was overwhelmingly easy to follow the pattern which had once been his nostrils. The memory was so strong it seemed to warm her finger tips, perhaps she was still half asleep, they had not been warm in decades.

 

              Héctor woke suddenly with a snoring groan and gazed around the well kept room with confusion, then momentary shock staring on her calm face. Now he too seemed to be having his own need to prove to himself he was truly sleeping in her bed as opposed to dreaming. Softly, as though she could crumble apart with the slightest pressure his boney finger fluttered just above her cheek bone. Rather than make contact he waited until she took initiative leaning her face forward into his palm. The softest sound escaped him, nearly a cry, and for a moment she wondered if he was indeed on the verge of weeping.

 

            “Búenas Dias,” he managed giving her the most content smile she had ever beheld. For a moment it struck at her own heart just how long they had been apart, and surprising him much like she had after her performance weeks ago on Dia De Los Muertos, her arms went around his neck and face into his collar bone. “Oh,” Héctor managed with a gasp laying for a moment in shock before her voice shook him from it.

            

 “I thought you said something last evening about finding ways to keep me warm was that a lie?” Imelda muttered into his neck to clothe her own bashfulness, and of course keep her pride appeased that was suddenly allowing this man such affection.

 

             “Of course not,” Héctor seemed to recover with a note of mischief and returned the embrace smoothing his fingers through her long undone hair. “Oh this is pretty to see up close…” He murmured more to himself fumbling the grey streaks between his knuckles.

 

             “Don’t try false flattery on me I’ll kick you from the bed…” Neither could believe her empty threat as instead she earned the delightful sound of a chuckle which resounded a much deeper tone when he was this relaxed. How could she have forgotten that sound or the way his chest moved when he made it? The answer was painful; she had trained herself to all those years ago when she had been forced to cut forth the pieces of her heart for survival.

 

             “Ay Imelda, don’t you think I know better...I just remember when we were young and you would let me braid your hair before bed, I would think of watching the colors change as we grew together...it’s, surreal to finally see.”

 

            “Why didn’t you tell me that when we were alive?”

 

             “I didn’t want you to think I was fantasizing about older women.” He added with a teasing tone and she lifted her head with a huff.

 

             “I am a year older than you.”

 

             “Only a year…” again he chuckled and the vibration of his ribs beneath her stirred again the feelings she had felt last evening when allowing him to sleep beside her. Wordlessly Imelda ran a finger across his narrow jaw then reclined her head to continue the kiss they had begun in the night’s darkness. Within an instant his fingers wove more tightly into her hair, as though afraid he would lose her if not holding on tightly.

 

              This morning they were not afraid or self-conscious as last evening. It didn’t matter if only bone remained, the longer she kissed the man the more her body remembered. The way Héctor would so often curve his head to kiss each side of her lips, how she would catch him opening his eyes to look at her shy expressions, and then oddly a taste? How was it possible when she had no tongue left to taste. Imelda reclined suddenly; surely this was another dream.

 

              “Lo-lo siento.” Héctor had let her go with an anxious look and attempted to scoot away until Imelda placed a hand upon his cheek bone.

 

              “No you didn’t, you didn’t do anything wrong...I…” she trailed off feeling a distinct humiliation and turned away. Unfortunately, he recalled her tell for the difference between shyness and anger, which was biting her lip.

 

               “Imelda, what is it?” Héctor asked softly.

 

               “It’s nothing.”

 

               “Now don’t do that.” He gave her his sulking pout which was still recognizable without his flesh. With another huff she shook her head,

 

                “Ay the family will wonder if I don’t come to the shop-”

 

               “Imelda after all these years you’re still embarrassed of your feelings?” The slight chiding and mischief in his tone was as annoying as it was charming.

 

                “Oh stop it-I mean it there is not-!” and in an instant she was on her back, he over her in a way that made something within her wild-but she didn’t have a heart she reminded herself, a pounding pulse wasn’t possible.

 

                “Now are you going to tell me or must I torture you Imelda?” His words brought a flood of memories she had long locked away. This was bizarre, her word was law to the family yet he was unafraid as had been usual in their lives. She would go silent, pout, or decide she was too embarrassed to share certain information and well he was not going to stand for it. Easily he would capture her, tickling around her waist, blowing air across her neck until she was nearly crying from laughter. By then it was impossible to be embarrassed he’d forced such joy and comfort in her and whatever thoughts she was hesitant to share came forward.

 

            “How do you possibly remember that…” She muttered momentarily amazed.

 

            “What do you think I thought of the last hundred years?” Came a more sentimental tone from him as his hand so softly brushed across her cheek bone. The sun was too bright, too revealing, and Imelda once more turned her gaze to the wall.

 

            “You’re being ridiculous, you can’t pull this trick anymore we’re skele-” The words had barely left Imelda when somehow his hands running across her covered ribcage brought the most shocking sensation. It _did_ tickle? Instantly she clasped hand over her mouth as startled gasp-laugh came out. Was she imagining this all? Héctor however had such a smug look on his face she couldn’t help but wonder if he had discovered some sort of trick.

           

            “Ay me I’m either losing my mind or in need of more sleep…”

           

            “You felt it didn’t you?” Héctor’s tone was gentle, soothing enough that she lifted her eyes in return to him.

 

            “Do you know something I do not…?” Finally came a murmur from her, the look in her eyes willing to confess more than she ever could verbally.

 

            “Well I _have_ been dead longer than you. I’ve _noticed_ some things…I think our memories are very strong…” Héctor began running caring fingers across her temple. “I mean I’ve never been to an ofrenda, but I’ve seen people return every year enjoying offerings-I’ve certainly had my fair share of drinks in the afterlife and felt drunk, but we don’t have tongues anymore do we?” Imelda looked ready to argue, she opened her mouth but then hesitated. Technically he was right, she recalled the offerings of the Rivera ofrenda, despite the lack of tongue they could taste them. How had it never dawned on them just how strange and illogical this was? Closing her eyes with a deep huff she forced out the next words in a near whisper.

           

            “I thought I could…taste you when we kissed.”

           

            “You,” The look in his eyes was again so moved it ignited her own chest with feelings. “You remember that?”

           

            “I suppose so…if that is how this works…that or my body does.”

           

            “Can…can I kiss you again?”

           

            “We sound like nervous children again…” And she couldn’t help but smirk at the irony.

 

            “I feel like one don’t you?” It was so easy for him to allow this sort of shyness, he was simply delighted to caress her cheekbones. He had always been the leader of vulnerability in their relationship and so quick to share his feelings. For a moment she was envious how easy this all seemed for him.

 

            “We’re over a hundred years old…”

 

            “Ay and yet I feel like a young boy wondering if I will find the nerve to kiss you under the stars.” Imelda listened to the tone of adoration in his voice, the images were flooding through her head as she recalled him, dark, tall, anxious. So desperate to kiss her and so afraid until finally…

 

            “I had to kiss you didn’t I…”

           

            “Ah you remember?” He was beaming now, yet the opposite came upon her face as a long hidden pain ran across her eyes momentarily. Suddenly she did remember, their youth, their courtship, the love which had meant so much to her life that had only come to the surface when she had the opportunity to beat (if there was any left) the life out of Ernesto De la Cruz. She had screamed ‘love of her life’ because he had been such a pivotal portion of her life. But now it would mean embracing the pain of all they had missed out on while alive.

 

            “I wanted to forget…but it seems I couldn’t…” Imelda whispered, and the sorrow filled his eyes, the smile gone in an instant. Before she could begin any explanation she found herself clasped in his arms-tight to his chest, and despite it being bone on bone she swore there was warmth.

 

            “I should have never left,” The words were pouring out that he’d been holding in since nearly experiencing the final death. “Lo siento, oh dios if I could show you just how sorry I am _lo siento…”_ Now this was painfully familiar, his many attempts to apologize over the decades once she had died. A piece of her nearly instinctually rejected him, arms tensing, ready to shove him away. Then for the first time in her life to death, she dared to allow the pain which would have surely stopped her beating heart. It would be safe now because she could take comfort in his arms.

 

In that moment, Imelda saw it so vividly; imagining what might have been one hundred years ago. Standing in their doorway her husband clutching her, his bags tossed aside, his pink suit affray, and his tears warm on her shoulder as he bent to her height. The apology he had died wanting to give her in life, the one she had rejected in death, the one he would do anything to earn her belief in now. And in that moment she could close her eyes and finally believe it. Were not for Ernesto de la Cruz, this scene would have unfolded. She would have been stern he had stayed on the road longer than planned, but the seasons would pass. The nights would be cold in the desert. Cold enough that whatever turned her from him in bed would lead her back to his arms for warmth. This unique man so full of love and admiration for her and her demands, for his daughter who was not a son; his songs would fill her to the brim with love over and over until any aching wound his departure had opened was forever stitched closed. And maybe now in her bed, in this afterlife, she could feel the first stiches mending the hole which she had so long learned to numb the ache of.

            “Show me…” she whispered and demanded lifting her head from his chest. Héctor lowered his gaze cautiously, she could feel his hands tremble about her frame. “Bésame.”

 

            “Are you sure…?” Héctor’s voice had such a tender tremble that it’s vibrations could create fissures through the so many walls she encased herself within over the years. Rather than speak she instead took the lead as she had so many times in their living days, crawling over the man then reclining to kiss him as her hair created a canopy about their skulls. Now Imelda dared to enter this exchange with more than their previous kisses, she was ready to experience, to remember.

           

            It didn’t matter there were no lips, they shared the exchange with the pliable bone and the sensations seemed to roll forth from her memory. The taste returning, warm indescribable, it was indeed like an offering from the ofrenda; somehow she could enjoy it even without a tongue. Her lack of fear spread to him, and soon his arms had enveloped her against him. Still he was so tall even without their added muscles the familiarity was coming back to her as she laid across his frame. It was surprisingly comfortable than what she would have considered bone on bone to feel-or were her memories simply in full force now?

           

            Slowly, curiously, her fingers traced down his ribs between his open vest. For a split second she could recall the feeling of what had been there-the curling hair which would cling to her fingers, the soft nub of each nipple, and of course even back then the vague outline of these ribs he was so very thin. Héctor startled breaking from her lips with a gasp.

 

            “Did that hurt?” Imelda asked softly, regretfully reclining her hand from his chest.

 

            “No I…for a minute it…”

           

            “Was it enjoyable?” She whispered, no longer seeking to define everything that was happening.

 

            “Si…”

 

            “Again?”

 

            “Por favor,” His voice was a nervous rasp and she could see already how his bones rose and fell rapidly in the mimic of breath they no longer needed. Once more, like he was her own instrument of the most fragile construction, her fingers wove over the outline of his ribs. Yes now she felt the bone, but it was neither cold or scabrous to the touch as she imagined, or considered her own to feel.

 

            “Oh I dreamt of this…” Came a soft exhale from him which again would have created a blush. With her other hand she attempted to smooth back hair behind non-existent ears. “Your hands across me once again…” His voice was affecting her as though she were a virginal girl once again. Then again, it had been nearly a hundred years since she had even considered touching another person this intimately. Another person? Wasn’t that a stupid thought? The space Héctor had left in her was far too voluminous and specific to ever be filled by another flimsy lover.

           

            “So-...so did I.” Came the most quiet admission under her breath. But he may as well have still had those giant ears because his eyes fluttered open wide, and for a moment the heat in her cheeks was so intense she couldn’t help but wonder if there was still some blood in them. Imelda finally looked away from his inquisitive stare with a soft huff, hoping he would ‘get over it’, but _of course_ he wouldn’t.

 

            “Of me-of me in your bed-me touching you?!” He was sitting up excitedly, taking her hand in his. Imelda groaned staring at the bed-she was a married grandmother, the fact he could make her feel this was just another layer of embarrassment.

 

            “Well who…who else would it have been?” Imelda muttered, and the words barely left her before he enthusiastically took her face between his hands kissing across it passionately. It was too lovely to resist and without realizing how it happened she was the one on her back his lips now onto her chin, then neck, then daring to kiss the small amount of exposed shoulder before pausing to look at her for permission. The heat it was conjuring was so foreign that it frightened her. But she had no intention to turn from these feelings of desire any longer. The relief it was bringing, even as it stoked a curious need in her, was like finding a secret sense that had been hidden away for longer than she could recall. “Why are you stopping…?” She didn’t recognize her own voice. It had become like his own deeper, and breathy.

 

            “I don’t want to…make you uncomfortable.” It sounded as though his own resolve was in the midst of fearing the moment would suddenly vanish or giving into his own desires. “Or rush this…or…” He trailed off and it dawned on both of their faces just where exactly this was leading.

 

            “Ha…strangely enough I’m thinking more of what you won’t see than what you would…” She said quietly running her hand over the buttons on the front of her gown.

 

            “As if that would bother me…” Héctor’s seductive smile was so ridiculous with the even more crooked in death teeth, and so soothing. “I mean I…” oh this was rare, the Héctor Rivera look of embarrassment. He was like a young boy again. “I don’t have much to show either.” The words came out with a timid laugh.

 

            “Then what are we waiting on?” Imelda sat up feeling a surge of boldness, she had to be a young woman again she had not felt this vivacious in years.

 

            “Q-que?” Another nervous laugh left Héctor as he sank back to his knees on the bed. Holding his eyes she began to undo each button across her dress. Each one seemed to expand the size of his pupils until she finished and left the gown hanging open. Both of their torsos were rising and falling rapidly even without lungs. Keeping his eyes for permission she now reached forward to the collar of his ridiculous ripped jacket. Slowly the nerves left his and he offered a subtle nod. With her own caution Imelda slipped the fabric away as memories flooded over her eyes. The sight of his brown skin when they helped one another dress for bed, his bony shoulders which required her to stand on her toes to see completely.

 

            Bringing his hands to her dress she guided him to slide it away revealing her white bones, and for the first time in a long while, she felt a sorrow at the lack of breasts. Before the feeling could permeate her mood, his fingers had tenderly traced up her humerus and the strange warmth fluttered over her again. Then each one carefully treaded her clavicle, until meeting the middle of her sternum. They slide down to where once her heart had laid, between each breast, pounding nervously. Daring to steal a look at his face, the peaceful smile he had brought a soft hitch to her breath. How was it possible he could look at the sterile image of bones as though she were the same young woman he had undressed by the river bank and marveled at the wonders of her body. And then her breath hitched even more intensely as his hand fluttered along the rims of her ribs and the sensitivity felt as though the nerves had returned.

 

            “All right?” His voice was so deep now, it made something strange ache. The only answer she could give was lacing her fingers into his rib to yank him forward over her in another longing kiss. Due to her courage she was rewarded with his moan into her mouth which brought a shiver through her entire body.

           

            “Touch me,” She pleaded into his mouth. Their bones clinked together but it was warm. Closing her eyes she submitted to all of his movements and kisses. The walls she had wearily held up for one hundred years could come to a clattering destruction from the feathering touches of his lips along what had been her neck. In her mind the memories flashed with the starkness of motion pictures and blended with their current reality. The sight of his tangled black hair when he would kiss her stomach. The way his stomach would rapidly rise and fall against her palms when she leaned upon it while straddled across his thin hips. The strange sharp tickle that struck her stomach to a failing knot when his lips ran up her inner thigh. How the sweat glistened on his shoulder when he was over her, his face in her neck, and body in her own. These precious things which had been banished from her mind were rushing out with the intensity of fireworks.

           

            Were they reenacting the memories without realizing it that made these sensations so distinct, or was she simply so lost in her own memories? Imelda fluttered her eyes open looking over at the same tangled black hair of his. Her own fingers were tracing down each of his vertebrae as he adored what remained of her. A kiss was pressed to every rib and a sudden moan left her that was nearly frightening. If she closed her eyes she would have sworn she was living woman with a breast he had just kissed. The ache in her was reaching a strange agony, and so she pulled his face back to her own in hopes to drown it in a kiss.

 

            On the contrary it grew, her legs instinctually repeated her clustering memories, spreading over his back legs that he settled between them. And then they both suddenly broke their desperate kiss, confusion and shock on them each at what was being felt.

           

            “Do you…” Imelda started at a loss for words.

 

            “Warm…um…down there?” Oh god he looked as shy and young as he had been the first time they ever did this. Imelda nodded slowly for confirmation as he did the same still tightly holding her face between his hands. “I am a little confused…I mean it is not like I have-uh, obviously,” His eyes flickered downward then away with a nervous chuckle.

 

            “Heh, I thought you were the expert on these things Sénor ‘I’ve-been-dead-longer’?” Somehow she managed a reassuring smile bringing his gaze back to her.

 

            “I mean I…there were times my memories were so strong it felt like…um like if I awoke from a certain kind of dream I would have sworn I still had all my flesh…” Héctor added sheepishly and she was filled with the memory of the young mariachi shyly covering his face with his hat. “I always thought it was my mind playing tricks…like those soldiers from the Revolution who would claim to feel their missing feet, you know?” 

 

            “Can I…try to feel?” Imelda asked softly, despite her own composure she too was baffled by the strange tingling she could feel between her own legs. Héctor offered a timid nod, and her hand migrated over his hip bone. They were indeed still bone but the unexpected moan he gave when her fingers inched closer to his pelvis startled them both. There was indeed warmth-and perhaps it was just the feeling of his trousers which made the area feel more rounded than she would have predicted.

 

            “This is…” Even more rare sights in one hour, the legendary scarcely seen speechless Héctor Rivera. His voice was trembling and eyes were filled with a desire which made her too shudder.

 

            “Move against me…” She whispered taking his hands in her face. Any doubts either had or hesitance was swept away when she gave into her own hunger to another kiss. A roll of his hips and each clutched one another a little tighter. Whether it was a memory, shared delusion, or something magical happening the mutual gasps let them know neither was experiencing the startling pleasure alone. “Do it again…” Imelda whispered.

           

            “You feel all of this…too? I mean-…like we are-…”

 

            “Alive?” Imelda finished in a breathy voice as each grind ran ripples up her body. It was bizarre but she didn’t quite care.

 

            “Si-oh…”He moaned into her cheek dropping his head as his fingers curled into the fabric of her dress forming a rocking rhythm across her. What did it matter she thought, they tasted without tongues didn’t they, perhaps they could feel without those kind of organs and muscles too? A passing moment came to the forefront of her mind.

 

            “Do you remember…that dog Miguel had?”

 

            “S-si?” Héctor lifted his head to look at her and slowed his hips. His expression was a mixture of curiosity and alarm she would bring up their great-great-grandson during a moment like _this._ “Is this a hint to stop-,”   


            “No-just listen,” She muttered more sternly wringing her fingers into the straps of his suspenders. “There was an hombre…at the department of family reunions, and he kept sneezing over that damn dog.”

 

            “And?” Héctor’s face was slightly exasperated at her sudden pause.

           

            “We don’t _have_ noses.” Imelda chided pinching at where own used to be. It took him a moment to catch up as she heard him mutter “wait, wait…” under his breath, clearly trying to put together their situation despite the hazy state of their heads. Imelda lifted her hips to his with another soft sigh urging him to start the motion again. The recognition passed on his face and with a touch more boldness he reached down to clutch her hip bone and roll against her more tightly. “Bésame…” She demanded once again pulling him downward by the suspenders. The heat was tactile, the pleasure was warm between them, and the ache in her bones finally had a name.

 

            “Are you saying,” He panted-it registered to her they were both panting, “we’re capable of…we could…” Again he seemed too afraid to say it-it seemed too ridiculous to imagine between a pair of skeletons.

 

            “Si…maybe…I don’t know…” Imelda muttered holding him closely as her arms wove behind his head to run her fingers through his tangled hair.  “Maybe we’re exhausted and imagining all of this from our memories.”

 

            “Heh, I do treasure those memories,” Against her lips she could feel his smile as he intimately cupped her face in his hands. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the sight of you brought them forward…”

 

            “Even like this?”

 

            “Any look, any age, any way…” Héctor muttered following a boney finger across her markings to the bridge of her nose. It almost tickled as he traced where her nostrils had once been.

 

            “I want to try…” She said suddenly invigorated.

 

            “Hm?...You mean-oh-OH.”

 

            “Si…do you?” Imelda asked softly, her fingers ran along his various designs once more, the emptiness was acute and if there was any chance to fill it she would take it now, take him now, she was ready to brave.

 

            “Oh si…very much so…” The depth of his voice was returning as a trembling hand ran across her skirt. “I’m…a little afraid.” He admitted with a tiny smile. Imelda exhaled, and with the reassurance of his gaze’s protection she dared to be uncomfortably vulnerable.

 

            “So…am I. But even more so…desperate to have you close again.” It took everything in her to not look away, to handle the weight of the statement in her bones, her non existent stomach, and feel how utterly terrifying it would be to lose him again. The look on his face was so touched she wondered if he would begin weeping over her, and instead he reclined his head to kiss her once more.

 

            Trying to keep contact of lips each fumbled with their remaining clothes, she taking the initiative to unhook his suspenders while his cautious hands pushed away the fabric of her skirt to her mid section. It was only bone, no flesh was going to spring up or return. They had died and left behind the struggles and demands of bodies long ago. Imelda in that moment stopped searching for answers. It didn’t matter if their memories powered this exchange or it was some strange feverish dream and he still slept soundly beside her. The only thing she did know, was when his bare hip bones came in contact with her own a burning heat and pressure rippled through her, from the base of her spine to tip of her skull. Each startled from their kiss and laid anxiously still in fear that sensation was a temporary fluke, and the dead were mad to imagine they could know the intimacy of one another.

 

            After several shuddering breaths she slid her hands to his shoulders and bent back her knees that he could settle closer. Both moaned unexpectedly, then shared a look of disbelief. Between gasps timid smiles ran over each of them.

 

            “It feels like…almost like I recall.” Héctor whispered as a tender secret that only she could hear. “Do you-?”

 

            “Oh si…I do. I do.” Warmth was in her, in a nonexistent stomach, with nonexistent nerves she still could take in all the sensations of being filled by this man. For a moment they were afraid to move, until she finally gave him a little urge of hips which rippled more pleasure through each of them.

 

            “I don’t think this is just memories…” He breathed kissing over her cheek as he dared to adjust his hips in a little motion. “It’s been so long…and I don’t think…I could conjure something this…real from just…my memories.” Each word was an effort for him between deep pants.

 

            “You feel…a part of me again?” Imelda asked hugging him closely with her knees.

 

            “Ay dios mios I _do…_ ” he gasped then clenched his jaw holding in a word.

 

            “Ay you’re not allowed to be quiet if I’m not,” She chided pulling on his jaw.

 

            “I’m not looking to ruin the moment with what you see as ‘false flattery’.” He gave her that coy smirk, and she was unable to scoff she felt so out of breath from the pressure of his hips simply gently rocking back and forth against her.

 

            “If I recall you had no mind to make up any sort of insincere words when you had my _cúno perfecta_.” Now she got to give a bit of a smirk to his startled bashful face that she used his living vulgar words against him.

 

            “Y-you remembered-,”

 

            “How could I possibly forget _that.”_

“I haven’t felt this warm since I can remember …” The words spilled out and he reclined is forehead to her own, their designs meeting in a kiss. Each time his hips pressed as closely as they could into her own he shuddered out a moan. “Oh Imelda…I remember this I do, I missed you, mi amor I missed you,” His voice was on the verge of breaking. The look on his eyes contributed to the fulfillment his body was aiding to the wound which she carried in the center of her soul. It was too much, the thing she hated the most was coming to the surface. Tears.

 

            “I couldn’t stop…loving you as much as I wanted to.” Her arms wove around his shoulders, and with the words and threat of tears he instinctually cradled her head protectively. “You left such a hole in my life, I had to do everything I could to ignore it.”

 

            “I’ll do anything…let me do everything to fix it,” He pleaded his own voice breaking as he pressed his lips over her eyes.

 

            “This is helping,” She gasped as her surprised smile returned. “It no longer feels so empty.” Tenderly, they kept up the motions and between moans and flutters of their eyes the sensation of being joined permeated in ripples through their bones. It dawned on her the little differences, there was no concern for pain or dryness, nor fumbling nervously to make it work, there was the simple stability and serenity of death in the act. How fortunate to have him in death, to know this could be their eternity if they so willed it. And nothing could take him away, no poison, nor space or time.

 

            It was hard to know how much time was passing in this pose and motion-their bodies no longer had limits nor physical limitations. The frantic passion of their younger selves was replaced with a tranquility of simply existing interlaced and fulfilled. Death could be lonely without the familiar beat of a heart or constant warmth of skin which held bones in place. But like this, the gaps between every bone became insignificant and trivial in comparison to the mutual heat that was born.

 

            How long did the gentle pleasure go on she wasn’t sure, perhaps they fell asleep to it once more. For she found herself stirring to a knock upon her door.

 

            “Hermana?” It was Oscar, or Felipe, what did it matter.

 

            “Si?” Came a surprisingly groggy voice from her.

 

            “Is something wrong it’s nearly noon?”

 

            “Why-,” The physical situation caught up with her and she came to realize she was completely bare, laying underneath her husband who too was in the same state. Humiliation made her nearly jump out of the bed but she inhaled to regain some strength of composure. “Fine! Tired it all! I-…I’ll be by later.”

 

            “No you won’t…” Came a soft whisper, as Héctor woke kissing along her neck. For a moment she shot the man the look, but he answered her only with his familiar sly smile.

 

            “If I feel less tired!” Imelda relented, and surrender had never been so wonderful.


End file.
